


you’re deeply rooted in my mind

by mosalyng



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a moderately happy ending, M/M, Memory Loss, real emo hours, this work might have been inspired by lost in translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 08:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosalyng/pseuds/mosalyng
Summary: “Wonwoo,” his mother cries out and almost runs to his bed. He knows it’s his name; two syllables familiar as he tries to taste them on his tongue. He knows they describe him and define his life more than any material thing he owns.It’s as if nothing has happened, but as soon as he lays his eyes on a man standing near the door, looking at him with eyes full of sorrow, he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.





	you’re deeply rooted in my mind

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd so bear that in mind if you decide to read!

 

Their days together went on like this:

Wonwoo spent most of his time creating new worlds inside his head and capturing them on paper; the thoughts were always there, at the back of his head, burning his tongue and fingers, waiting to take a form of words written across hundreds of notebook pages. In the mornings, Junhui would kiss Wonwoo’s forehead and put a steaming cup of hot coffee on the table before going to the lecture and piano practice.

Evenings were spent hugging on a sofa, eating take out and telling each other about their days. Junhui complained about his professors and their love for assigning essays way too long for his liking, told Wonwoo about the way his fingers recreated melodies older than their world. On the other hand, Wonwoo shared stories he’d written that day and let Junhui kiss his hands, fingers tired from switching between a pen and his computer’s keyboard.

Nights are all about touching each other, forming arches and curves Wonwoo’s handwriting could never imitate. The sheets were always cold, but Junhui’s skin was like coming home after being away for a long time, and Wonwoo always delightfully allowed himself to embrace the welcoming warmth. Every night, he would tell Junhui he’s more beautiful than anything he’d ever written and get a smile in response.

On the weekends, they went out with their mutual friends, letting the alcohol burn their throats. None of them were keen on getting drunk, but sometimes it was much needed. They’d always end up kissing under the streetlight and sharing a cigarette on their way home.

 

The day it all ended went on like this:

After seeing Junhui off, Wonwoo decided to go to the nearby store to buy a new pack of cigarettes and something to eat. It wasn’t unusual; nothing out of the ordinary, so he allowed his mind to wander and not pay much attention to his surroundings. The morning was crisp and helped him think about the next chapter of the book he was writing at the time. I need to ask Junhui about this character, he thought as he began crossing the street.

That day, a car hit him, making him unconscious and unable to hear screams that echoed around as he lied in a small pool of his own blood.

 

_

 

When he wakes up, the first thing he can see is his mother, so small and fragile, crying her eyes out. Next to her is his father; there are no tears on his face, but Wonwoo just knows he’s on the verge of breaking down.

He recognizes them; of course, he does, they’re the people who gave him life and everything they had, their bond too profound to be broken.

“Wonwoo,” his mother cries out and almost runs to his bed. He knows it’s his name; two syllables familiar as he tries to taste them on his tongue. He knows they describe him and define his life more than any material thing he owns.

It’s as if nothing has happened, but as soon as he lays his eyes on a man standing near the door, looking at him with eyes full of sorrow, he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

 

_

 

“Wonwoo, darling,” his mother says softly as she takes his hand. It’s warm and makes Wonwoo feel safe. “Do you remember Junhui?”

He doesn’t.

Since they’ve locked their eyes in that hospital room, Wonwoo is haunted by the image of Junhui’s sorrowful gaze. It makes him unbearably guilty because deep inside his mind, he knows him. His body doesn’t tense around him as it does around strangers. Every time he looks through pictures he’s saved on his phone, he can’t escape seeing hundreds of photos; of Junhui’s face, Junhui sleeping, playing the piano, eating, them together. There’s a folder on his laptop called “宝贝”, filled with love letters and descriptions of Junhui he apparently has written over the past few years. It confuses him.

He doesn’t remember Wen Junhui.

“Do you trust him?” his mother asks and he finds himself responding immediately: yes. More than anyone, but he doesn’t say it out loud. It’s irrational, but the faith his parents seem to have in Junhui eases his mind, makes him think the man must’ve been dear to the family.

“We’ve been thinking... He wants to take you to Hong Kong. Help you remember. Of course, you don’t- you don’t have to. Junhui… he’s gentle. He’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo replies, much to his mother’s astonishment.

 

_

 

On the first night, Junhui is quiet; mainly due to tiredness that came along with their flight and struggling to remember Cantonese. It’s sad, how much he’d forgotten over the past few years. Cantonese was the language of his land, of his people, something so crucial to his entire existence. He could use Mandarin, but there’s weird symbolism in coming back to something your mind tried to get rid of. Maybe Wonwoo was the same. Junhui doesn’t dwell on it too much, not having the strength to break his own heart once again.

Their hotel room is located on the highest floor, which makes Junhui more than glad; he’s always been the one to enjoy beautiful urban landscapes. Lines of skyscrapers are visible and he finds himself wishing he could take Wonwoo there as if it was the first time, without burdens that weigh both of them down.

“Are you hungry? I can order something to eat,” Junhui says quietly as if he was talking to no one in particular, while he unpacks his things and looks through the small vanity bag he’s brought with him.

Wonwoo hides under the covers with a smartphone in his hand. Inaudible sounds of a mobile game fill the room and Junhui thinks maybe not that much has changed, after all.

“Not really. I’m just... tired. We can talk tomorrow, yeah?”

Of course, they can, but _can_ and _want_ aren't, and never will be the same, so Junhui goes to sleep trying not to let his thoughts consume him alive.

 

_

 

On the second night, Junhui takes Wonwoo out.

Persuading him isn't easy; Wonwoo clearly doesn't want to leave the room, trapped in his own mind. But the walls of their hotel room are foreign and won’t contribute to making him remember the past, so Juhui almost drags him out against Wonwoo’s will.

The air is cold, but Junhui doesn't mind; he's never been the one to complain about the weather. Not when it eases his mind, makes him smile when it seems impossible. Even though this part of the city is not one he knows well, it still brings him a sense of comfort; the smells of local street food remind him of his mother’s cooking.

Wonwoo, however, is still just a shadow of his former self. His smile shows signs of fakeness and Junhui knows he acts excited because he knows he has to, not out of sincere feelings.

Junhui shows him around as describes places they’ve already been to when everything used to be normal. The city hasn’t changed since their visit; a few new buildings catch his eye, but other than that, every language of the world can still be heard on the bustling streets, people still seem to be in a constant rush, and locals still spend their free time at bars and restaurants that are hidden from the hordes of tourists.

They spend the rest of the night eating roasted sweet potatoes, the lights of Victoria Harbour reflecting on their faces. Junhui wishes he could find the silence comfortable.

 

_

 

On the third night, Junhui loses his temper.

He knows he shouldn't; it's not Wonwoo's fault. It’s just twisted fate playing tricks like it always does, taking both of them prisoners despite them not being soiled with guilt, but frustration bubbles in his chest as he looks at Wonwoo, eyes filled with desperation and anger. The other man is terribly oblivious to feelings that tear Junhui’s chest apart, the longing that takes his breath away.

“Can't you just talk to me? Do you hate me that much? I can take no for an answer, you know. I can just fucking leave and forget everything like you did.”

It's a line he shouldn't have crossed, Junhui knows it; Wonwoo looks at him, terrified, broken, angry. It's a complete mix of all negative emotions one could feel. He’s not scared, just apologetic and remorseful. Junhui doesn’t even wait for his reaction because he knows he’s the one at fault, and guilt makes him unable to do anything but storm out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

By the time he comes back a few hours later, Wonwoo is already fast asleep, so he places the notebook and fountain pen he’s bought on the night table between their single beds and tries his best to force his mind and fall asleep.

 

_

 

On the fourth night, Junhui cries and rewrites every letter he's received from Wonwoo on his skin. It’s terrifying; one of them has already forgotten, so he grasps at straws, taking every chance to make the raw emotions they’ve felt everlasting.

There are small drops of blood where the idle of his pen has dug too deep. He doesn’t pay attention, continuing writing as if it was a form of a ritual. When Wonwoo notices the state he’s in, he comes up to Junhui, takes his hand, caresses it slowly despite feeling unsure about the act.

“I’m sorry, Junhui,” he says silently, eyes pointed at the hand that’s trembling in his own. The words that leave his mouth are sincere and there’s a glint of hope in Junhui’s eyes as he nods his head.

“Don’t apologize, you’re not at fault,” he answers. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t- force you and take my anger out on you.”

Wonwoo smiles at him softly, a feeling of affection soaring through his whole body. A need to run his fingers through Junhui’s soft hair is stronger than his reasoning as he reaches of his other hand, much to Junhui’s confusion.

“We met three years ago,“ Junhui starts slowly, voice cracked. “Our departments decided to join forces and yours was in charge of writing the screenplay, mine had to prepare the performance. You were the one who had to write about my character, so one day you came up to me on the campus and asked me out for coffee - it became a regular thing even after everything has ended. You introduced me to your friends and we began going out together, we were literally having the time of our lives. It was exactly like in the movies and stories people tell about college,”

“When you told me you loved me, I was dumbfounded because I’d already prepared myself to bear the burden of an unrequited love. But you meant it, and everything has changed. You dropped out of college to pursue writing and I continued my studies, but I was so glad to come back to our apartment every day, seriously Wonwoo, even seeing your face after a long day was more I ever dared to wish for,” Junhui stops, trying not to crumble down right there on the spot. “We were so happy, Wonwoo. I just fucking miss it. Please, come back.”

Wonwoo’s face full of regret tells Junhui that to him, the words Junhui’s said are nothing but a story that doesn’t concern him, despite being the main character, and it’s the breaking point as tears begin to fall again. Time passes without any words said, and they both lose track of time, watching the meaningless images that appear on the television screen and listening to footsteps that soar through the hotel’s corridor.

“Wait,” Wonwoo says suddenly, raising his head. “I remembered something. On the day we met, were you... Were you wearing a white turtleneck?”

 

_

 

On the fifth night, there’s a change in Wonwoo’s demeanor. The small detail that resurfaced the night before has visibly lifted his spirits since his words don’t carry a sense of utter confusion anymore. He doesn’t spend every minute playing mobile games to pass time; instead, he asks Junhui about their lives, listens as the other man goes on about his own interests. It doesn’t make him remember, but he finally begins to feel like a protagonist of their own story.

The sun has already set down when Wonwoo sits on the edge of Junhui’s bed and forces the other man to look him in the eye. His gaze is deadly serious and makes Junhui think that maybe a decision has been made, maybe Wonwoo wants to finish it once and for all, stop trying to catch the thin threads that might help him restore his memories. Junhui finds himself thinking he’d accept every outcome, just to make Wonwoo happy again.

And then, Wonwoo leans forward and kisses him; Junhui almost forgets to breathe due to the shock that begins to cloud his mind but kisses him back nonetheless. His stomach turns from the familiarity of it all; he’s missed the softness of Wonwoo’s lips and the warmth of his hands more than anything.

When Wonwoo shifts and tries to lie down in order to make things easier, Junhui stops him by grabbing his shoulders.

“Look, Wonwoo, you don’t have to do this,” Junhui says. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you have to.”

“You didn’t,” Wonwoo answers, trying to get away from Junhui’s grip. “I want this. I want you.”

Junhui just stares at him, astounded. Fear takes over his muscles and there’s nothing he can do besides staring at Wonwoo’s eager eyes. Hundreds of thoughts pass through his hazed mind, but none of them seems powerful enough to push the other man away.

“It might help,” Wonwoo adds, the confidence in his tone slowly decreasing as he sees confusion and hesitancy painted on Junhui’s face. “And, besides that, you’re really hot, so let me.”

Junhui finally shakes out of his trance and grins at the words that leave Wonwoo’s mouth; he can catch a glimpse of the past they share; Wonwoo’s brash comment, not much disparate from the ones he’s grown fond of during the days they’ve spent together, makes him think that maybe, only tonight, he can pretend nothing has changed, that they’re still madly in love and free of this burden.

Shirts end up on the floor and Junhui tries to kiss every part of Wonwoo’s skin, slowly going from his neck to the stomach, worshiping everything he’s been deprived of for too long. Wonwoo’s heavy breathing act as a background noise and Junhui can’t help but drink it as if he was a dried flower yearning for water and sunshine.

Just then, Wonwoo sighs with a slight sign of irritation and impatience as he reaches for Junhui’s belt, kissing him desperately on the lips. Once he manages to unzip the jeans Junhui was wearing, he begins to palm him through the clothing, Junhui’s groan echoing through the room as a response to his actions.

“Please, let me,” Wonwoo says with uncertainty in his voice, to which Junhui just nods eagerly, eyes shut and body trembling with anticipation. Wonwoo’s fingers ghost over Junhui’s cock as he reaches down, taking him in his mouth, making Junhui’s back arch.

Even a few hours later, as they try to fit into a single bed, bodies sticky from come and sweat, their breathing is still ragged. Junhui’s not sure whether it’s an after effect of sex or just the feelings that begin to pierce both of their hearts, but he decides he could get used to this, he could accept everything Wonwoo wants to give him without any complaints.

 

_

 

It’s an early morning hour when they finish packing their bags and share smiles as if these past few weeks weren’t real. The room is filled with an unvoiced feeling of hope, making the air light and easy to inhale and exhale after days of unbearable thickness. Junhui finally can breathe a sigh of relief, free from the overwhelming weight on his shoulders. It feels like a new beginning, a new reality he could get used to as long as Wonwoo was a part of it.

“We're going to be fine, right?” Wonwoo says as he stands up from his suitcase. His words are referring to nothing in particular; he might as well be talking about the flight they’re about to take, but the heavy feeling of heartiness that rings in his voice makes it clear he’s touching upon the subject of their relationship. Junhui just stands in front of a huge window, observes the early morning rush and the flood of people with a place they have to go to. There are many things he would like to say; _of course, Wonwoo, I love you more than anything_ is the one that takes the lead, but he swallows it down, deciding not to influence Wonwoo’s lines of thought. The other man might still not recall the past three years, but Junhui is done with trying to use force; instead, he chooses to wait patiently for Wonwoo’s judgment, whatever it might be.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the outside world and hides a small smile as he says, “Yeah. I promise we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm physically unable to write anything explicit i'm sorry!! feel free to point out any mistakes since 1. i've never been to hong kong 2. i've never experienced amnesia 
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
